Cold, Gray Winter Days
by eclecticxdetour
Summary: WINCEST of the SamDean Persuasion Rated T for Some SLASH Summary: The heat is busted in their little apartment and Dean thinks Sam's trying to discover Antarctica.


WARNINGS: schmoop [cuddling], boy-kissing, one time use of the f-word, underage [Sam is still in high-school though it's not really designated which grade]

* * *

Sam pulled on three of his long-sleeved t-shirts, and his thickest hoodie, before finally pulling on his jacket. He pulled on a pair of boxer-briefs, then a pair of boxers, then a pair of jeans, before pulling his sweatpants on over his jeans.

"Jesus, Sam," commented Dean, laughter flirting with his tone, "You gonna go discover Antarctica or something?"

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean and grinned when he managed to button his jacket over his shirts. "Antarctica's already been discovered, jerk," he said on a sigh, tempted to find his beanie when his sigh fogged the air.

He noticed Dean's lack of clothing, then. Well, not _lack _of clothing, but considerably less clothing than he should be wearing considering it was twenty-eight degrees outside and the freaking heat in their apartment was broken; just the way he wanted to spend his Christmas break.

"Are you _retarded_, Dean?" asked Sam, tucking his hair beneath his beanie after he found it shoved in the closet.

"What, you pansy, it's not even that cold," muttered Dean, scratching at his belly beneath his worn t-shirt as he walked toward the living room. He paused at the couch, rubbing at his bare left heel with his other foot before plopping down onto the ratty loveseat.

He looked to Sam, then, "You seriously _that_ cold, Sammy?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at his big brother but nodded anyway. He let out a huff of warm breath, watching it fog the air before disappearing as he waited to see if Dean would say more.

"Jesus, Sam," groaned Dean, scooting as close to the back of the couch as he could and patting at the couch for Sam to lie down in front of him.

He kept his right arm splayed out along the couch so Sam could settle in on top of it, making it easier for him to curl his arms around Sam and pull his little brother close.

"Thanks," muttered Sam, snuggling back into Dean and laughing quietly when Dean mock-struggled to get his arms around his belly.

"Goddamn, how many layers you got on anyway?"

Sam did some quick arithmetic and answered, "Five up top, four on my legs."

"You're ridiculous," grumbled Dean, tugging at Sam's jacket until he had Sam turned toward him so he could remove some of Sam's layers.

"Hey! What're yo--"

"You don't need five layers of shirts, man," answered Dean before Sam could finish, tugging Sam's hoodie off of him when he successfully removed Sam's jacket.

"Dude!"

"Shuddup," answered Dean with no heat behind the words, he pushed his fingers up Sam's shirts and got underneath the top two layers before he jerked the cotton thermals over Sam's head, still catching Sam's first layer as he pulled.

"Dean! Jerk, I need at least _one_ shirt," whined Sam, hands scrabbling at his only shirt as Dean chucked his other two shirts on the floor.

Dean hissed when some residual static snapped at his fingers when he brought his hands over Sam's head again. He laughed when Sam aimed an annoyed expression at him and he rubbed the static out of Sammy's hair.

"Now we gotta get you out of all your pants," said Dean seriously, laughing when Sam's eyes widened.

Sam saw the intense look behind Dean's gaze and let out a resigned sigh, "Fine," he grit, tugging his sweatpants down himself and settling them between him and Dean when Dean started at the button on his jeans.

"Fuckin' A, Sammy, you got twelve pairs of underwear on, too?" he asked, easing Sam's jeans down his legs and noticing the line of another pair of underpants beneath Sam's boxers.

"Just two," mumbled Sam, cheeks heating with a blush when Dean tugged the worn plaid boxers down his slim hips.

"Keep the sweats on, though, baby boy," said Dean, throwing Sam's boxers on top of the pile while Sam pulled his sweatpants back up. He grinned at Sam when he was clothed in only one layer like himself then leant forward and pressed his mouth to Sam's in a tender kiss.

"I'll keep ya' warm, little brother, no worries, alright?"

"Whatever, Dean," answered Sam, snuggling in against Dean's chest, arms pressing up against Dean's torso as he wormed a leg between Dean's, throwing the other over Dean's hip when Dean curled around him.

After a moment Sam realized his head was cold again, "Hey, Dean, where'd m--" but before he could finish Dean situated the beanie on his head again and pulled it down over his ears, lip of the beanie pulling his bangs down in front of his eyes. "Thanks," he said with a smile, curling closer to Dean.

"Got you covered, Sam. Always gonna take care of you," replied Dean, rubbing his hands up and down Sam's back until he felt Sam yawn against his chest.

Sam groaned contentedly and turned around in Dean's arms once again, grinning when it was Dean's leg pressed between his own this time. He looked out the lone window in the living room, eyes taking in the bleak whiteness of the sky.

He recalled the weather report from that morning, Stuart Trent forecasted snow. He knew how unreliable weather forecasters were; knew the only person he could really _ever _rely on would be Dean. When Dean heard the report Dean told him what a load of horseshit it was and told him not to believe something unless he saw it with his own eyes.

So when the beginnings of snow danced in the bleakness outside their window, he gently elbowed Dean and muttered, "Dean, _snow_."

He felt Dean's lazy grin against the back of his neck and felt his belly flutter when Dean slipped his hand up his shirt and settled it over his navel. He heard Dean whisper; "You can believe it, _now,_ Sammy."

And Sam did. Lying there watching the snow fall outside with Dean curled up close and _safe_ behind him, he never felt warmer in his life.


End file.
